


Soulmates, or Something Like It

by serenelystrange



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Dumbasses, F/F, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Mutual Pining, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, mutual obliviousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-26
Updated: 2019-12-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 08:48:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,166
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21966664
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/serenelystrange/pseuds/serenelystrange
Summary: Written for the Sterek Secret Santa 2019, for Mintonarel. -- I tried my hand at a fluffy little Soulmates fic, hope you like it! SFW. A mix of canon and not-so-canon, rolled up into a ball of schmoop!
Relationships: Allison Argent/Scott McCall, Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 10
Kudos: 384
Collections: The Sterek Secret Santa - Edition 2019





	Soulmates, or Something Like It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mintonarel](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mintonarel/gifts).



They have just about all of the boxes loaded into the rented U-Haul when Scott cringes suddenly, head cocking in a way that reminds the Sheriff of the pint-sized yorkie he’d had as a kid.

“Stiles trip over himself and fall again?” he asks Scott, sweating under the unreasonably warm May sun.

“Yup,” Scott says, tilting his head again and laughing a moment later.

“He said he’s fine…and that my ‘fuzzy werewolf ass’ should be doing all the heavy lifting.”

The Sheriff shrugs in a way that doesn’t outright say he agrees, but may as well have.

“I’m just a super strong lackey to you people,” Scott huffs, giving the Sheriff a crooked grin and heading back into the apartment to rescue Stiles from the perils of moving anyway.

“Yeah, yeah,” the Sheriff says, before plopping himself down on the edge of the truck’s bed. It’s too damn hot to be moving house.

“Next time you find your soulmate, you’re the one who has to move,” Stiles says many hours later, collapsing onto his beat up futon in his new and only slightly Criminal Minds-esque shady apartment.

“There won’t be a next time,” Scott says, settling next to Stiles on the futon with not even a fraction of the sweaty grossness that has befallen the human. “That’s sort of the whole point.”

“Details, Scotty, just tiny little details,” Stiles sighs, waving his hand tiredly before dropping in over his closed eyes.

“And I offered to move out,” Scott reminds him. “Aly was looking at places and everything.”

Stiles just mumbles a bunch of nonsense under the hand that’s slipping down his face slowly. Scott, happening to have both exception hearing and a damn near PHD in Stiles-speak, understands him anyway.

“I appreciate it, buddy,” he says, knocking his knee against Stiles’ gently. “I’ll order us some pizza.”

“Yaaaay,” Stiles says around a yawn.

Scott just laughs and pulls out his phone to order, knowing Stiles will nap until it arrives.

“Can I ask you a weirdly personal question?”

Derek sighs deeply and turns away from where he’d been putting away clean dishes and leans against the kitchen counter. He crosses his arms against his check and cocks an eyebrow at Stiles.

“You’ve been doing so for the past ten years, since when do you ask permission?”

“I’m a new and enlightened man!” Stiles defends. “That careless busybody is a Stiles of the past!”

“A Stiles of… like three days ago, you mean,” Derek replies, but he’s fighting back the grin that wants to appear.

“He was unrefined and uncouth!” Stiles agrees.

“Those are pretty much the same thing,” Derek points out.

“Don’t distract me with your knowledge of linguistics!” Stiles says, pointing in way he hopes is menacing.

Derek lowers the eyebrow. It is not.

They stand in silence for a long awkward moment before Derek finally sighs again.

“Alright,” he says, “new, enlightened Stiles. Ask away.”

Stiles grins madly in victory for a second before settling his face back down.

“Do you have a Soulmark?” he asks, eyes scanning what little skin of Derek’s he can see for the telltale ridges.

Derek’s face does something complicated that only ten years of experience save Stiles from being scared that he’s having some sort of stroke.

“Yes,” he says, finally.

Another long and awkward pause.

“Hmm,” says Stiles, eloquently.

“Do you?” Derek asks, and Stiles feels himself inexplicably blushing as Derek’s eyes sweep over him in the same way he had done.

He shakes his head.

“I’m sad and soulmate-less,” he says, with an over-dramatic sigh. He barely takes a breath before the next question is out of his mouth.

“Can I see it?”

“Stiles,” Derek says sternly. “You know that’s a private thing.”

“Scott and Allison showed everyone!” Stiles defends. “They sent a picture in the group-chat!”

“Well,” Derek says, “If I ever find my supposed soulmate, I’ll put a picture in the group-chat too.”

“I’m sure they’re out there,” Stiles says, feeling bad for bringing the whole thing up. “But hey, at least your mark means that someone out there must have the same one, right?”

Derek shrugs, causally, as if he hasn’t spent entire nights awake wondering if anyone out there had his mark, and if he could ever be enough for somebody to love.

“It might all be bullshit anyway,” Stiles says, recognizing the angsty look across Derek’s face and hastening to move on. “I mean, neither of my parents had marks, and they loved each other more than anything in the world.”

“Total bullshit,” Derek agrees. “Now, my turn to ask you a personal question.”

“Yes?”

“What are you doing in my house?” Derek asks, deadpan.

The pen Stiles picks up from the table and throws misses him by several inches, but he flashes his eyes in mock anger anyway. He has a reputation after all.

“You just asked him to see his Soulmark?” Kira asks, in disbelief.

Stiles rolls his eyes and continues sanitizing the tiny chairs and tables now that his preschoolers have all gone home.

“It’s not like I asked to see his dick, jeez,” he says.

“Stiles!” Kira gasps, looking around furtively. “We’re at work!”

“The kids are all gone,” he counters.

“Fair enough,” Kira says. “I’m so glad I teach 5th grade. They’re less…sticky. Mostly.”

Stiles laughs and finally finishes cleaning the tables, tossing the used rags in the bin to be washed.

“Anyway,” he says. “I was just curious about his mark. I don’t have one, and it’s all Scott has been talking about lately, so it was on my mind.”

“I guess,” Kira says, before grinning. “Want to see mine?”

“Really?” Stiles asks, “it’s not too personal or whatever else you were lecturing me about?”

“Nah,” Kira says, “I don’t mind. Everyone is different, is all.”

“Bring it on, fox-y lady,” Stiles says, gesturing for her to proceed.

Kira rolls her eyes at the nickname but turns around and tucks her hair over one shoulder before tugging the back of her shirt down to reveal the mark sitting between her shoulder blades.

“It’s sort of a feather,” Stiles says, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the skin where it’s raised. “or like one side of a feather.”

“Two point three inches, 17 barbs,” Kira informs him.

At Stiles’ silence, she continues.

“Just figured I should know as many details as possible, in case I ever find my match. There’s a lot of feathers in the world.”

“It’s cool looking,’ Stiles says once Kira has fixed her shirt and hair, and turned back around.

“Thanks!” she says, giving Stiles her sunniest grin.

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you too, you know, “she says. “You don’t need a mark to have a soulmate. And you don’t need a soulmate to have love.”

“I know,” Stiles says, “it just sometimes feels like I’m missing out on something, you know?”

“Welcome to your late twenties, babe,” Kira says, cackling slightly. “We’re all a bunch of hot messes.”

And really, all Stiles can do is agree.

He’s been in his new apartment nearly three months and Stiles still jumps in shock every time he comes home to find Derek there, more often than not curled up on his futon under his cheap Spiderman blanket from Walmart, fast asleep.

He hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask Derek why he just shows up sometimes. The dark circles under his eyes make him think that maybe the nightmares Derek swears are gone aren’t all that gone after all.

“Where are all your other betas, sleepy-wolf?” Stiles asks, knowing Derek will have started waking up the second he heard Stiles coming up the stairs.

“Boyd and Erica are driving out east to visit his family,” Derek says, not moving or opening his eyes. “And Isaac is working, or something, I don’t know. He wasn’t home.” He yawns widely, but stays where he is. “And you’re Scott’s beta, not mine.”

“I’m a human being, thank you very much,” Stiles says. “And I can be part of both of your little clubs at the same time. So there.”

“That’s not really how that works,” Derek says.

Stiles shrugs, unconcerned. “I belong to no city, I belong to no man!”

“Ok, Halsey,” Derek snorts, finally un-cocooning himself and sitting up. His hair is all mussed up and the blanket is still firmly wrapped around his shoulders. Stiles finds it almost unbearable endearing.

“Look at you with your pop culture references!” he says, instead of blurting out something about how goddamn adorable Derek and his sleepy eyes are.

“Watch the Simpsons with me?” Derek asks, ignoring Stiles’ teasing altogether.

“Early seasons only, man,” Stiles says, but he doesn’t say no.

He drops his stuff into a pile against the wall and finally closes the door. Derek scoots to one side of the futon to make space. Stiles settles in and tucks himself under the half of the blanket Derek tosses over him. It’s warm and cozy against the chill of the air conditioned apartment, and it smells like the hippie soap that he just knows Derek sneaks out to the farmer’s market to buy when nobody is watching.

Derek’s thigh is so close to his that he can feel the heat of it seeping through his own jeans, and he suppresses the shivers that threaten to run up his spine at the thought. The familiar opening song plays on the tv, and Stiles resigns himself to another night of quiet pining.

“In retrospect,” Stiles says, between gasping for air, “Paintball with a bunch of were-creatures who can literally hear my heartbeat was a terrible idea.”

“Not for us!” Erica calls out from the other side of the field somewhere.

“I’m one giant bruise now!” Stiles yells back, even though he’s well aware she can hear him just fine at his normal speaking voice.

“Sorry, bro!” Scott yells out from another direction, followed quickly by sputtering curses as someone, probably Isaac, pelts him with paintballs.   
Stiles allows himself a moment to snicker, even if Scott won’t bruise like he will.

“Easy on the human!” Derek calls out, just loud enough for the supernaturals to hear while not alerting any nearby strangers.

“You heard Loverboy,” Erica says, laughing even as Kira takes the opportunity to catch her right in the arm.

“He’s not my…never mind,” Stiles says, sighing.

“Not if you keep ignoring each other’s Very Obvious Signals,” Boyd says, appearing just long enough to shoot them both point-blank in the chest with blue paint before disappearing into the obstacles again.

“There are no signals!” Stiles yells, starting to burn red with embarrassment. He knows his crush on Derek must be obvious from the moon, but the pack doesn’t usually call him out so viciously.

“Right,” Derek says, and Stiles is suddenly struck by the tone of his voice. If Stiles didn’t know any better, he could swear that Derek almost sounded…sad.

“Der?” he asks, realizing slowly that Derek hasn’t left his side since the moment he’d started complaining about getting hit too hard.

“It’s ok,” Derek says, giving him a small smile. “I know you don’t have feelings for me, ignore my asshole betas.”

His words finally comprehend in Stiles’ brain, and he suddenly understands what all those old novels meant when they described swooning.

“My legs are Jell-O,” he says, when what he means is “I love you, what the hell are you even talking about, no feelings for you???”

Derek reaches out at once, concerned. “Did a paintball hit a nerve or something?” he asks, grabbing onto Stiles’ upper arm to steady him.

“Your brains are Jell-O!” a voice calls out from a bunch of crates somewhere behind them.

“How can you even hear us, Melissa?” Stiles yells back, gesturing vaguely in her direction.

“Scott is eavesdropping!” she calls back, helpfully.

“Mom!” Scott yelps. “Be cool!”

Stiles sighs and decides to just ignore them all and finally face his fears.

“My legs are fine. The Jell-O is a metaphor. Or a simile? No, a metaphor. It’s… I mean, I’m not hurt.”

Derek just continues to watch him carefully, afraid to say the wrong thing when he’s finally so close.

“You have feelings for me?” he asks Derek, managing to make eye contact for three whole seconds before having to look away.

“Little bit,” Derek says, quietly, still looking about ready to flee at any moment.

“Awesome,” Stiles says after a beat, breaking out into a giant grin. “Because I don’t know how you didn’t notice, but I’m ridiculously in love with you.”

Derek’s face is frozen in shock and Stiles is slightly concerned that he’s broken him.

“So, there’s that,” he adds. “You ok there, big guy?”

“Processing,” is all Derek says, but his face is slowly softening into an expression that Stiles doesn’t see nearly enough.

“You look happy,” he says, dumbly.

Derek laughs at that, loud and sudden, and that set Stiles off too, until they’re both laughing so hard their chests ache with it.

“You should kiss me,” Stiles says, once they’ve finally caught their breath and made their way off the field and back to the Camaro.

Derek leans against the car, dashingly James Dean for a moment before he breaks and grins again.

“Should I?” he asks, already reaching out to grab Stiles by his paint splattered coveralls and pull him in.

“You should,” Stiles says, letting himself be pulled.

And so he does.

“I leave for one month and I miss you two finally figuring it out!”

Stiles just snorts at Lydia’s outburst and goes back to applying sunscreen to Derek’s shoulders and back.

“You know I won’t burn, right?” Derek asks, turning his head back to smirk at Stiles.

“Shhh,” Stiles says, “And turn around so I can get your chest.”

“Nope!” the Sheriff cuts in and grabs the bottle from Stiles’ hands. “This is a family pool party, you aren’t getting handsy with your boyfriend in front of innocent eyes.”

“Everyone here is an adult,” Stiles argues, reaching for the bottle in vain.

“I meant my eyes, son,” the Sherriff replies, tossing the bottle across the way to a waiting Melissa. “They don’t want to see that.”

Derek can’t help but laugh and pulls Stiles back to rest against his thankfully dry chest.

“We can pick that up later,” he whispers, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’ just for a moment.

Stiles shivers pleasantly with tingles and decides that he suddenly very much needs to take a dip in Lydia’s cold pool.

“Who’s the new girl?” Lydia asks Stiles later, as they sit with their feet in the pool and catch up while the others are attempting to combine Jenga and beer pong into something resembling a playable game.

“Her name’s Malia,” Stiles says, “she works with Isaac at the Sanctuary.”

“She can hear you, too,” Malia calls out from where she’s watching the Jenga-Pong creation with glee.

“Wolf?” Lydia asks, giving the other girl a small wave.

“Were-coyote,” Stiles says.

“No kidding,” Lydia says, “that’s different.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” Malia says, suddenly much closer than she was before. She plops down beside Lydia and grins. She leans in and scents the air without shame.

“Ooh, Banshee. And I thought the pretty little fox was the only outlier.”

From behind them somewhere, a glass bottle falls and hits the patio with a loud thud.

“She’s shy, too,” Malia says, delight apparent in her eyes.

Before Stiles can even come up with a response, Malia is gesturing at the hair tie around Lydia’s wrist.

“Do you mind?” she asks. I want to get back in the pool but don’t want my hair to get wet.”

“Sure,” Lydia says, handing it over before excusing herself to go get a drink.

“I scared her off” Malia says, “whoops.”

“She’ll warm up to you if you stick around long enough,” Stiles shrugs, pointedly not watching as Malia’s swimsuit soaks and clings to her ample chest.

“Don’t worry,” she says, hearing his pulse spike. “I know you’re with Isaac’s alpha.”

“Derek,” Stiles corrects automatically.

“That’s the one,” Malia agrees. “Shit, I didn’t think this through and my hands are all wet now. Can you put my hair up?”

“I can try,” Stiles says, taking the borrowed hair tie and letting Malia turn around so he can pull her hair up into what he hopes is a passable high ponytail.

He’s smoothing up the baby hairs at her neck when his fingers brush against bumps just under her hairline.

“My Soulmark,” Malia explains. “It’s a bitch to see unless you’re looking for it.”

“Is that a feather?” Stiles asks, a strange anticipation creeping into his stomach.

“Mhm,” Malia says, turning back around once Stiles is done, unaware of the internal freak out that Stiles is going through.

“Is it two point three inches with 17 barbs, by any chance?” Stiles asks.

“How the hell did you know that?” Malia asks, squinting at him in suspicion.

“I bet your answer is arriving just as soon as it snaps out of shock,” Stiles says, just a moment before he feels Kira’s hand on his shoulder, tugging him to his feet.

“Bye!” he says, and flees to the relative safety of the game shenanigans.

By the time he gets back to Derek, Kira and Malia are talking animatedly by the pool, matching grins on their faces, feet tangling in the pool.

Stiles spends Christmas morning wrapped up in the blankets with Derek, hardly able to believe it’s been half a year since they finally got their act together.

“Merry Christmas, der-bear,” he sing-songs, running his fingers idly across Derek’s ribs, over the Soulmark that he’s finally been allowed to see.

“No,” Derek says, wrinkling his nose at the nickname Stiles refuses to give up.

“Pumpkin?” Stiles asks, grinning.

“No.”

“Sugar? Sweetums?” Stiles tries, tickling his fingers over Derek’s chest just to make him twitch.

Derek grabs his hand and holds it still against his chest where it was, right over his mark, right under his heart.

“How about Soulmate?” he offers Stiles, knowing he’s won when Stiles just sputters in response.

“But I don’t have a mark,” Stiles says finally, and he sounds so utterly heartbroken that Derek turns around immediately so he can kiss Stiles into a smile.

“Don’t need a mark to know,” Derek says, running his thumb across Stiles’ cheekbone soothingly. “Nothing has ever felt as right as you do. Soulmark or not, you’re it for me.” 

“Don’t you dare make me cry on Christmas, you bastard!” Stiles says, eyes watery and mouth getting suspiciously wobbly.

“Ok,” Derek says simply, wiping the wetness away from Stiles’ eyes. “I’ll just tell you I love you, and you can pretend to be sleeping, and later we’ll make waffles and you’ll tell you love me too once the coffee kicks in.”

“Sounds perfect,” Stiles says, yawning against Derek’s chest.

And it is.

The End.


End file.
